


Of apostates, pirate queens and everything in-between

by diabla616



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diabla616/pseuds/diabla616
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra wants the Champion's entire story, and Varric is more than happy to tell it. Though perhaps this isn't quite the story she was expecting?<br/>The highs and lows of Hawke and Isabela's romance, as told by Varrric Tethras</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of apostates, pirate queens and everything in-between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaineddove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaineddove/gifts).



The place in which Varric wakes is cold and dark, with thick stone walls. He can't see enough to tell more than that; Varric may be a dwarf but he's always preferred the light of the surface. As he blinks the rest of the room into focus, slowly, he notices the other occupant of the room; a brunette dressed in Chantry-issue armour. Not the inquisition he was expecting, but Varric has been telling stories for a long time, he knows how to spin one for any audience - especially when it's not his own he's telling.

There's a barely-disguised undercurrent of rage to her voice when she speaks to him, which only seems to accentuate the heavy Orlesian accent.  
"Your stories are lies Dwarf. The Champion we seek was a dangerous apostate who came to Kirkwall to start wars."

"Hawke certainly got involved in a great deal, not all of it entirely above board, I'll give you that." Varric concedes, watching Cassandra shake her head in irritation, "but all this, all your stories? _They're_ lies, mostly. Hawke was a good person. Mostly."

The Seeker has a response for that immediately though; " _you_ were her friend, her ally. Surely you cannot expect me to consider you unbiased?"

"I _am_ her friend, Seeker. Hawke has many friends still; in Kirkwall, the free Marches, Ferelden, even spread as far as Tevinter or Starkhaven. Even now, when the name _Hawke_ carries a stigma from your Chantry, people remain loyal to her. Would the Champion you seek have inspired that?"

When it seems that Cassandra doesn't have a response to this Varric presses his advantage:  
"You wouldn't think her so terrible if you had seen her trying to court Isabela," he grumbles, then when Cassandra stiffens at this he continues, "did I tell you about that, Seeker?"

Cassandra's eyes narrow at this; "now that you mention it, Dwarf, you did not. I want all the details."

"And you will, I assure you. I've _always_ enjoyed telling this one."  


_The first time Hawke met Rivaini was in the hanged man. It didn't go well..._

\------

The figure at the Hanged Man's bar doesn't _look_ imposing, though after a year of living in Lowtown, Kirkwall Marian Hawke has learned never to take anyone at face value. _Especially_ not someone on her third helping of Corff's finest ale and still standing.

As is usual for the Hanged Man, it doesn't seem to take long for a crowd to form, this time centred around the tall, dark woman, and Hawke's no idiot - she's long since learnt that the most interesting allies are found in the middle of such a crowd. Another life lesson from the City of Chains, she supposes. 

She waits for the scene in front of her to play out though, and pretty soon her initial instincts are proven correct (sometimes, Hawke thinks all Kirkwall _really_ needs is someone with the right instincts and a keen sense of timing) and pretty soon the woman who caught her eye has her assailants on the run, and turns to face their party. 

And, _wow_ Hawke wasn't prepared for this; she's gorgeous. Tall and dark as she's already noted, yes, but also striking, and feminine in a way that an apostate on the run never had time to be. 

"Hawke, isn't it?" She says by way of a greeting, "You might be just what I'm looking for."  
There's a brief, uncomfortable (at least on Hawke's part) moment where the stranger's eyes sweep over the remnants of the Red Iron uniform she's never got around to replacing, and Hawke, unsure of what she's supposed to do, does nothing at all. 

"How is it that I'm always exactly what everyone is looking for?" Hawke eventually manages, once she finds her voice. 

"You look like a ...capable sort," the woman responds, with a wink, "and I need someone to watch my back."

Hawke falters a little at this; such blatant flirtation was frowned on in the small-town society of Lothering, though even had it not been she never had much chance to indulge during her time there, constantly hiding from the Templars' shadows.  
"I'm sure I can manage that," she offers weakly.

That earns her a chuckle; "I'll bet. I'm Isabela by the way, Captain Isabela if you prefer. Which I do."

" _Captain_ Isabela?" Hawke asks, a little incredulously, "don't you need a ship for that title? Well, I'd be happy to watch your back nevertheless."

Isabela's expression shuts down faster than anything Hawke's ever seen before. "Or not," she says archly, "I've just remembered I don't need anyone to watch my back, especially not _you,_ Ferelden." 

"So, she's sensitive about that one," Varric notes, "good to know." 

\------

The months pass like weeks; strange, Hawke thinks, in some ways, as full and frantic as her days usually are, that most of the time they seem to blur together, like paints on a canvas; the previous shapes not quite dry before she's moved onto the next colour.  
Hawke's working hard, perhaps too hard sometimes, to ensure that the name _Hawke_ is a household name (in the right households, at least) and Carver, well, he tries.

Isabela seems to have joined their party. Hawke isn't sure why exactly; they're not exactly friends - Isabela has little time for any of Hawke's more charitable ventures, and nothing but disdain for the way she handles any situation - but she's there whenever Hawke needs her at least, and Hawke doesn't want to question that.

Hard work means long days, often sleepless nights, and fights with those closest to her, most notably Carver. Though work also means coin, and within a few months Hawke has enough for a position on the Next Big Thing in Kirkwall; Bartrand's Deep Roads expedition.

The party gathered in Hightown is small; for such a dangerous expedition Bartrand seems to have only recruited the minimum number of hired hands, and he glares suspiciously at Hawke's party when she arrives with her own, mis-matched group of friends she's acquired during her time in Kirkwall.

"Three of you and no more." Bartrand growls, "I'm not a sodding charity."

Before anyone else can say anything, before Hawke has chance to decide, Carver steps forward.  
"I've been waiting for this. Take me with you, Sister."

\------

"So Hawke took Carver, and the elf, and we set off into the Deep Roads. There was some ...unpleasantness with Bartrand-"

"We know about your brother, Dwarf," Cassandra interrupts, "finish your tale."

"Then you'll know Carver didn't make it out of the Deep Roads. The expedition itself was a success; it made our fortunes, put Hawke back in Hightown, but at a cost."

\------

Isabela looks serious, something so unusual for her that Hawke can't help an uncharitable flash of irritation, thinking that if one more person tells her how sorry they are then she'll scream, or smash something. She knows, _Maker_ , no one can be more sorry than she is; sorry she let Carver down, sorry she even took him along in the first place, sorry she couldn't be stronger, better; _sorry she couldn't save him._  
But Isabela doesn't mention Carver. Instead she sits down across the table from Hawke, beckons Corff across with a jug of ale, and begins to talk.

"On the open sea scurvy is the worst disaster imaginable. Unless you have a healer, and a talented one at that, it's incurable, easy to miss, and almost always fatal. Sailors will tell you that it's worse than the darkspawn taint because you can't see it coming. On my maiden voyage as Captain one of my crew fell ill with scurvy. And worse; he wasn't just one of the crew - he was my first mate. He was older than me, a sort of mentor if you like, and I was terrified."

Hawke looks up at this, genuinely shocked by Isabela's frankness. "Terrified? You? I don't believe you."

"I know," Isabela chuckles, "but it's true. I was young then. Anyway, he asked me to kill him, before the disease did, then later he begged me, but I couldn't. I thought, drop anchor at Llomerryn for a day or two, find a healer, and we'd be fine. _He'd_ be fine."

"But he wasn't." Hawke guesses.

"He wasn't. By the time we got him to a healer the disease was too advanced. All the healer could do was put him out of his misery like I could have done weeks before."

"Isabela-" Hawke begins, unsure what to say next.

"You did the right thing Hawke," Isabela says, "even if it doesn't seem like it right now."

\------

_"I worry about you darling. With me gone you'll be all alone."_  
And once again Hawke is in a situation where she can't win. The necromancer is dead, by her own hand, but that's little comfort when the corpse on the dusty floor is wearing her mother's face and someone else's body, and no amount of coin or influence can change that in her favour.

Her mother's words had seemed unnecessary worrying at the time – what concern was her own loneliness when her own mother lay dying? Though now, in her estate every empty room echoes with the silence. 

Isabela's boots echo loudly in the great hall, but Hawke can't bring herself to leave her room. She hears Orana answer the door, still timid and uncertain, but improving, and listens as Isabela climbs the stairs. "I feel I should say ..something," Isabela ventures, standing awkwardly in the doorway to Hawke's room.

"You don't have to," Hawke replies, "I'm just glad to have someone else here. It's lonely being an orphan."

Isabela frowns at that; "family isn't just the people you're related to," she says, "there are other people who care about you. Like ...Aveline."

The unspoken _and me_ is what cheers Hawke for long after Isabela leaves. 

\------

Hawke's never liked her uncle – he's too stubborn, too self-pitying. It seems uncharitable of her to say this, so she tries not to call attention to her own feelings on the matter. Though now they are both alone it's almost a duty to visit him, she feels. Gamlen appreciates it – though he's never admitted it yet she can see his gratitude in the way his Lowtown hovel is always slightly cleaner then she remembers, in the way he's so quick to offer her a drink – even the good ale he keeps hidden.

Hawke tries to keep these visits short after the last time Gamlen drank himself into a stupor before lunch, so often she's accompanied by a member of her party when she visits, already prepared to make her excuses and leave. 

Hawke's ready to leave once again, this time headed to the alienage with Isabela, when Gamlen mutters something beneath his breath which makes her freeze. 

" So," he says, "I hear you've been slipping it to that pirate slut from the Hanged Man."  
Hawke stands where she is, fists clenched in anger. "How _dare_ you?"

"What's that like?" Gamlen continues, as if he's not heard her, "two women? I've always wondered..."  


Isabela is beside her, and she hasn't spoken yet. Hawke can't help a brief flicker of concern at that; she hasn't made her associations with Isabela public, mostly because she's not exactly certain what Isabela is offering. Whatever the nature of their relationship, Hawke thinks, she's certain it's not exactly what she wants.  


Which is why she's taken by surprise when Isabela smiles sweetly, links their hands together and says,  
"Quite frankly I'd be surprised if you managed to bed one woman without having to pay. I wouldn't push your luck any further."

\------

_Martyred for the cause._ It's what he wants, Hawke knows, and she's always tried to give her friends what they want, no matter how badly they let her down. Anders sits in front of her, on the ruined Chantry steps, head bowed. Hawke's friends are stood at a slight distance, obviously eager to make a move, and Hawke knows she must – the entire Templar force in Kirkwall will be after her soon, but she falters. What a pair they make, she thinks; Kirkwall's Champion and the man who would be its destruction. The knife in her hand is an unfamiliar weight after months using no weapon but her father's staff. In the lingering light from the Chantry the blade has a faint red sheen, and it looks dangerous in the way no staff ever has.  


Anders looks defeated, his coat tattered and his shoulders slumped in a way she's never seen before. There's no trace of the proud leader of Kirkwall's mage underground anymore, and his light (Anders' or Justice's, she's never been entirely certain which) is completely extinguished.  
He turns his head, and perhaps it's once more the light from the Chantry, but Hawke no longer sees Anders. In his place are all the people she's failed before him; there's Bethany's sweet smile, Carver's scowl, her mother's concern, all flashing across Anders' tired face.

And she can't; _is it not enough_ , she wants to ask, _is it not enough that I lost everything already?_ There is enough blood on her hands already, surely.  
And suddenly she hears a sigh, and Isabela appears by her side, her fingers closing around Hawke's own over the hilt of the knife, supporting, not taking over.  
"Come on," she says, with a small smile, "we have a revolution to start."

\------

Cassandra looks bemused when he finishes, but manages to compose herself enough to ask tersely "so where is the Champion now?"

Varric is used to this as a storyteller, a little bit of truth with the lie; "your guess is as good as mine Seeker. On a boat somewhere I imagine. Never liked boats myself."

At this Cassandra's lips press into a thin line and Varric idly wonders what horrible, Chantry-sanctioned death he's talked himself into, but then Cassandra sighs.  
"The Warden and the Champion, both gone. What are we to do now?"

And for a moment she looks nothing like the fearsome Chantry seeker who dragged him in here, all righteous fury, more like another little lost girl trying to find her way that he knew once.  
"I'm sorry Seeker, I can't answer that question. All I can tell you is that Hawke isn't who either side thinks she is. She's not your dangerous apostate, only interested in starting wars, nor is she the Maker-sent saviour to all of Kirkwall's mages. But she's human, and she's my friend and while she's made as many mistakes as I've told stories, she's also lost more than enough to pay for all of them twice over. Don't you think her story deserves the happiest ending I can give her?"

_**Varric,_  


  


_I hope this letter finds you well. I suspect it will-you always have known how to take care of yourself.  
We are both healthy and happy, and really, what more can one ask for?  
We head for Rivain next, and from there to Antiva where we have hopes of meeting an old friend who may be able to shed some light on the whereabouts of a very important person.  
I would say more, though I fear I have already attracted unwelcome attention to your door.  
Best of wishes until we meet again, my friend,_  


  


_M.H**_  



End file.
